Oak  Street 
UNCLASSIFIED 


DEC  3 1  BgJ 


Volume  VI 


JULY-SEPTEMBER.  1920 


Number  4 


Published  by  Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College 
Issued  Qyarterly 


BULLETIN  OF 


RANDOLPH-MACON 
WOMAN'S  COLLEGE 

LYNCHBURG.  VA. 


THE  FACTS  OF  POETRY 

By  PROFESSOR  ALFRED  ALLAN  KERN 


IN  MEMORIAM: 
Professor  Joseph  Lamb  Armstrong 


Entered  as   gecond-class  matter  January  5,  1915.  at  the   postoffice  at  Lynchbuigr.  Virginia, 
un(l«r  the  Act  of  August  24.  1912. 


BULLETIN 


OF 


RANDOLPH-MACON 
WOMAN'S  COLLEGE 


THE  FACTS  OF  POETRY 

By  PROFESSOR  ALFRED  ALLAN  KERN 

IN  MEMORIAM:  professor  Joseph  lamb  Armstrong 


Published  by  Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College 
lynchburg,  va. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2013 


http://archive.org/details/factsofpoetryinnnOOkern 


The  Facts  of  Poetry^^ 

By  Professor  Alfred  Allan  Kern 

Poetry  hath  her  facts  no  less  than  prose.  They  may  be  divided 
into  facts  about  poetry  and  facts  of  poetry.  It  frequently  hap- 
pens, both  in  school  and  college,  that  too  many  facts  about  poetry 
and  too  few  facts  of  poetry  are  taught.  The  majority  of  fresh- 
men seem  to  have  an  ineradicable  instinct  towards  memorizing 
the  date  of  the  poet's  birth,  the  name  of  the  little  English  village 
in  which  he  was  born  or  of  the  particular  college  at  Oxford  which 
he  attended,  the  circumstances  under  which  the  poem  was  writ- 
ten, and  any  striking  incidents  in  the  poet's  life,  such  as  divorce, 
suicide,  or  sudden  death.  But  even  the  simplest  fact  of  poetry 
— the  allegory  that  underlies  "Comus,"  the  theme  of  Gray's 
''Elegy,"  the  romanticism  in  "The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night," 
or  the  degeneration  of  the  character  of  Lucifer  in  "Paradise 
Lost" — even  when  explained  fully  and  clearly  by  the  text-book 
is,  like  "the  play,  the  insight,  and  the  stretch"  of  Raphael  to 
Andrea  del  Sarto,  "out  of  them,  out  of  them." 

The  exact  place  and  date  of  Langland's  birth  are  carefully 
stored  away  in  their  minds,  which  are,  however,  as  bare  as 
Mother  Hubbard's  cupboard  of  any  understanding  of  the  spirit 
of  Langland's  works  or  his  relation  to  his  age — and  that  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  the  text-book  clearly  explains  these  points 
and  often  emphasizes  their  importance  by  giving  to  them  a  pro- 
portionate share  of  space.  It  follows  as  a  matter  of  course  that 
if  students  fail  to  grasp  these  points  when  they  are  explained  to 
them  in  the  text-book,  they  are  utterly  helpless  when  put  face  to 
face  with  the  literature  itself.  Indeed,  many  of  them  refuse  to 
look  a  poem  in  the  face ;  their  idea  of  criticising  a  poem  is  to 
read  the  criticism  of  others  and  then  to  recast,  more  or  less  skill- 
fully, what  they  have  read.    It  is  quite  possible  for  a  student  to 


*An   address    delivered    before   the    English    Section   of   the   Mississippi 
Teachers'  Association  in  Jackson,  Mississippi,  May  9,  1920. 


4  Bulletin 

write  a  well-expressed,  thoughtful  paper  on  a  poetic  subject 
about  which  he  really  knows  nothing  at  all. 

Part  of  this  apparent  inability  to  learn  the  facts  of  poetry  is 
due  to  mental  laziness,  to  an  unwillingness  to  do  real  thinking. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  student  memorizes  the  dates  of  birth 
and  the  names  of  places  in  his  history  of  English  literature  and 
refuses  to  master  or  to  think-through  the  deeper  parts  of  the 
lesson.  Furthermore,  poetry  lends  itself  only  too  easily  to  the 
delusion  that  it  is  to  be  read  and  enjoyed,  but  not  to  be  worked 
over — as  if  there  w-ere  any  inherent  or  necessary  contradiction 
between  enjoyment  and  work.  The  study  of  mathematics  or  of 
Greek  is  synonymous  in  the  student's  mind  with  w^ork,  but  to 
work  over  Shelley's  ''Skylark" — why  the  idea  is  as  preposterous 
to  the  student  as  work  would  be  to  the  bird  itself.  He  reads  the 
poem  over  once  and  goes  to  class  with  a  mind  at  peace  with  all 
below  and  a  mental  conscience  void  of  offence,  feeling  that  he  has 
done  his  whole  duty  to  the  poem,  the  professor,  and  himself. 

The  common  or  garden  variety  of  freshman  looks  upon  a  poem 
much  as  Peter  Bell  looked  upon  a  primrose : 

A  primrose  by  the  river 's  brim 
A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 
And  it  was  nothing  more. 

A  poem  is  a  poem,  in  which  statement  is,  so  far  as  he  is  con- 
cerned, both  the  beginning  and  end  of  wisdom.  Indeed,  if  the 
truth  were  told,  poetry  delights  him  not,  no  nor  prose  neither.* 
Poetry  to  him  is  not  in  the  role  of  ordinary  literature;  it  is 
beyond  the  pale  of  plain,  everyday  English,  w^hich  he  admits 
must  make  sense  and  have  a  meaning.  Poetry  belongs  to  a  sort 
of  irresponsible,  non  compos  mentis  class  of  literature  which  may 
or  may  not  have  any  clear  meaning.  If  it  have  a  meaning,  why 
so  much  the  better  for  it ;  but  if  it  have  not,  like  the  mad  Hamlet 
in  England,  it  will  not  be  noticed  there. 

Ask  the  typical  student  who  thinks  he  has  prepared  his  lesson 
on  Shelley's  ''To  a  Skylark"  what  the  poem  is  about  and  he  will 


*A  chief  reason  for  his  dislike  of  the  latter  can  be  found  in  the  nature  of 
the  prose  which  is  oftentimes  rammed  down  his  throat. 


Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College  5 

answer  that  Shelley  is  writing  about  a  bird;  if  questioned  fur- 
ther, he  will  doubtless  recall  that  the  bird  was  compared  to  sev- 
eral objects,  some  of  which  he  may  be  able  to  name.  But  further 
than  this  the  deponent  testifieth  not.  There  may  also  be  some 
who,  like  Stevenson's  beggar,  though  not  comprehending  in  the 
slightest  the  meaning  of  the  poem,  yet  take  a  pleasure  in  the 
mere  sound  of  it,  rolling  the  sound  under  their  tongue  or  around 
in  their  head,  as  it  were.  Verily  these  have  their  reward,  but, 
like  the  reward  of  the  Pharisees,  it  is  small  and  meagre,  far  short 
of  what  it  ought  to  be. 

As  both  illustration  and  proof  of  the  foregoing  let  me  quote  a 
stanza  from  Gray's  "Elegy"  exactly  as  it  was  given  to  me  in  a 
recent  examination.     The  italics  are  mine. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  racerine 

The  dark  unf athomed  caves  of  ocean  bear ; 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen 
And  waste  its  fragments  on  the  desert  air. 

Is  it  conceivable  that  either  the  first  or  the  fourth  line  con- 
veyed any  meaning  whatever  to  the  sophomore  who  wrote  them? 
Certainly  not.  But  that  did  not  trouble  him  in  the  least;  his 
serenity  exceeded  that  of  the  ray  about  which  he  wrote.  Why 
should  they  have  meant  anything?     They  were  poetry. 

Nor  is  this  merely  an  isolated  example.  I  have  repeatedly  had 
college  classes,  some  of  which  were  composed  largely  of  English 
teachers  holding  a  bachelor's  or  master's  degree,  the  members 
of  which,  with  scarcely  an  exception,  would  read  the  lines  from 
''Geraint  and  Enid," 

''and  as  now, 
Men  weed  the  white  horse  on  the  Berkshire  hills 
To  keep  him  bright  and  clean  as  heretofore, 

without  having  an  idea  as  to  what  they  mean  or  indeed  without 
becoming  aware  that  they  have  any  meaning  whatever.  The  sur- 
face meaning  of  the  lines  is  so  incongruous  and  incomprehen- 
sible that  one  would  think  that  it  would  cause  even  the  most  care- 
less reader  to  pause  in  wonder  and  bewilderment  at  so  astonish- 


6  Bulletin 

ing  a  statement.  But  no.  It  takes  more  than  that  to  arrest  the 
vagrant  attention  of  a  college  student  preparing  tomorrow's  les- 
son in  Victorian  poetry. 

Now  if  this  attitude  to  poetry  were  limited  to  the  submerged 
tenth  in  our  classes,  we  should  probably  have  to  seek  no  farther 
for  the  cause,  but  it  will  be  found  prevalent  among  the  best  stu- 
dents in  the  various  classes.  If  this  be  so,  then  we  cannot  accept 
mental  inertia  as  a  sufficient  explanation.  The  chief  reason  why 
college  students  do  not  like  poetry  is  because  they  do  not  under- 
stand it,  for  7W  one  will  like  poetry  until  it  has  a  meaning  for 
him.  The  students  must  be  taught  that  each  sentence  in  a  poem 
has  a  meaning  and  that  they  are  expected  to  find  it;  that  the 
poem  itself  has  a  meaning  and  that  they  are  expected  to  find  that 
also.  They  must  be  taught  to  study  the  poem  itself  (and  not  the 
notes  upon  it)  until  they  understand  it. 

So  far  from  spoiling  the  student's  appreciation  of  a  poem, 
such  a  study  will  make  him  like  it  all  the  more.  It  is  the  simplest 
sort  of  psychology  that  we  take  an  increased  interest  in  anything 
when  we  understand  it,  whether  it  be  an  automobile,  a  football 
game,  or  the  plan  of  a  battle.  Nor  is  the  study  of  a  poem  at  all 
at  variance  with  the  appreciation  or  "feeling"  of  the  poem; 
rather  is  it  in  harmony  with  it.  Before  we  can  feel  the  poem,  we 
must  see  it;  and  if  we  are  ever  to  like  poetry,  we  must  feel  it. 
Poetry  appeals  to  the  heart  (or  the  soul,  if  you  prefer  Poe's 
doctrine)  through  the  mind.  If  our  liking  of  poetry  is  based 
on  no  more  solid  foundation  than  the  pleasant  sensation  of  its 
rhythm,  mingled  with  a  vague  and  indefinite  meaning,  it  will 
never  amount  to  much  in  our  lives. 

Nothing  that  has  been  said,  either  here  or  elsewhere,  should  hi 
taken  to  imply  that  melody  is  a  negligible  quality  in  verse  or 
that  real  and  lasting  pleasure  cannot  be  obtained  from  the  mere 
melody.  The  intention  has  been  merely  to  stress  two  facts  that 
often  need  to  be  stressed  in  our  classes:  first,  that  memorizing 
the  incidents  connected  with  the  composition  of  the  poem  or  with 
the  life  of  its  author  is  not  studying  poetry;  and  second,  that 
there  is  to  poetry  something  more  than  melody,  that  there  is  both 


Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College  7 

melody  and  matter,  and  that  either  quality  alone  is  half  itself. 
The  melody  not  only  rests  upon  and  is  woven  around  the  mean- 
ing, but  at  the  same  time  elevates  and  intensifies  it. 

Nor  is  it  to  be  denied  that  there  are  many  poems  whose  texture 
is  so  delicate,  whose  content  of  meaning  is  so  slight  or  so  simple 
as  to  defy  analysis,  but  whose  music  more  than  makes  amends 
for  this  deficiency — if  deficiency  it  be.  The  music  and  the  mes- 
sage of  "Break,  break,  break,"  or  ''Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and 
low,"  reach  the  heart  without  the  aid  of  commentary  or  inter- 
pretation. Nor  would  one  wish  to  analyze  the  charm  of  "An- 
nabel Lee" — the  meaning  of  the  poem  is  borne  along  by  the 
sweep  of  its  melody.  But  such  instances  as  these  do  not  disguise 
the  fact  that  there  is  usually  method  in  the  poet's  madness  and 
much  matter  could  we  but  observingly  distill  it  out. 

Just  as  it  is  not  difficult  to  demonstrate  that  the  study  of 
literature  is  the  most  practical  study  in  the  curriculum,  just  so 
— and  partially  because  thereof — is  it  no  more  difficult  to  show 
that  there  are  facts  in  poetry,  facts  as  plain  and  simple  as  that 
twice  two  makes  four ;  and  if  the  difficulty  which  students  appear 
to  have  in  mastering  them  be  considered,  facts  as  hard  and  stub- 
bom  as  the  binomial  theorem  or  a  problem  in  calculus. 

Of  all  our  poets  Shelley  is  generally  acknowledged  to  be  the 
most  ethereal,  the  least  concerned  with  the  practical  realities  of 
life.  If,  therefore,  we  can  find  in  Shelley's  poetry  a  number  of 
definite  and  easily  recognizable  facts,  we  may  take  for  granted 
their  presence  in  the  rest  of  English  poetry.  Let  us  therefore 
return  to  the  "Skylark." 

What  are  the  "facts"  in  it  to  which  I  have  alluded?  To 
enumerate  some  of  them  briefly,  they  are,  first,  the  plan  of  the 
poem,  which,  though  delicate  and  slight,  is  none  the  less  definite 
and  clearly  marked.  If  w^e  are  to  study  the  thought  of  the  poem, 
it  is  necessary  that  we  see  the  plan  or  outline  upon  which  this 
thought  is  built.  The  outline  is  not  merely  to  be  memorized,  but 
should  be  used  primarily  as  a  guide  to  understanding  the  poem. 
It  is  in  itself  a  fact  that  points  the  way  to  other  facts  more  im- 
portant than  itself. 


8  Bulletin 

In  the  second  place,  the  poem  illustrates  the  Shelleyan  char- 
acteristics of  unreality  and  Ij^ric  power. 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  Spirit! 
Bird  thou  never  wert. 

These  opening  lines  strike  the  ethereal  note,  which  is  intensified 
by  such  lines  as: 

Higher  still  and  higher 

From  the  earth  thou  springest 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire, 


In  the  golden  lightning 

Of  the  sunken  sun, 
O  'er  which  clouds  are  bright  'ning, 

Thou  dost  float  and  run; 
Like  an  unbodied  joy  whose  race  is  just  begun. 


Like  a  star  of  heaven, 

In  the  broad  daylight 
Thou  art  unseen, 


What  thou  art  we  know  not. 


Teach  us,  Sprite  or  Bird, 

What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine, 


Waking  or  asleep 

Thou  of  death  must  deem 
Things  more  true  and  deep 

Than  we  mortals  dream. 

Surely  it  is  not  difficult  to  establish  the  fact  that  the  poem 
illustrates  the  ethereal  nature  of  Shelley's  poetry.  That  his 
poetry  was  ethereal  is  a  fact  which  every  history  of  English  liter- 
ature emphasizes ;  therefore,  let  us  find  the  fact  in  the  poem  and 
teach  it  to  the  student.  So  shall  we  learn  to  know  Shelley  and 
to  catch  at  least  an  echo  of  his  distinctive  note ;  so  shall  we  show 
the  class  that  each  of  the  poets  has  as  distinct  a  note  as  he  has 
a  personality,  and  that  we  can  no  more  attain  uniformity  by 


Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College  9 

labelling  them  all  "poets"  and  letting*  it  go  at  that,  than  we  can 
make  them  all  alike  by  merely  calling  them  men.  They  differ  as 
poets  as  widely  as  they  differ  as  men. 

The  melody  of  the  poem  is  as  real  a  fact  as  its  outline,  but  un- 
fortunately it  is  not  as  definite ;  it  cannot  be  caught  and  im- 
prisoned in  outlines  or  even  in  words.  An  intelligent  reading 
of  the  poem  will  demonstrate  its  lyric  quality  to  many  who  had 
not  previously  appreciated  it.  But  even  here,  in  our  apprecia- 
tion of  the  melody  of  the  poem,  is  it  necessary  to  have  a  due 
regard  for  facts.  To  read  the  poem  intelligently,  the  teacher 
must  understand  its  meaning  thoroughly.  The  greatest  aid  to 
elocution  is  an  understanding  mind ;  before  the  poem  can  mean 
anything  to  the  class,  it  must  first  mean  something  to  the  teacher 
who  reads  it  to  the  class.  "Likewise  in  the  'Skylark'  the  flut- 
tering lift  of  the  bird's  movement,  the  airy  ecstasy  and  rippling 
gush  of  its  song,  are  mirrored  in  the  rhythm  in  a  thousand  subtly 
varying  effects. '  '*  All  this  is  in  the  melody  if  only  we  had  the 
ears  to  hear  it. 

A  third  fact  in  the  poem  is  the  presence  in  it  of  Shelley's 
weariness  of  the  w^orld  and  his  devotion  to  poetry,  both  of  which 
are  fundamental  facts  in  the  poet's  life.  We  are  thus  lifted  out 
of  the  narrow  limits  of  the  poem  into  the  wider  field  of  Shelley's 
personality. 

With  thy  clear,  keen  joyaiice 

Languor  cannot  be; 
Shadow  of  annoyance 
Never  came  near  thee; 
Thou  lovest — but  ne'er  knew  love's  sad  satiety. 

We  look  before  and  after, 

And  pine  for  what  is  not; 
Our  sincerest  laughter 

With  some  pain  is  fraught; 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest  thought. 

In  order  not  to  rest  our  case  on  a  single  poem,  let  us  also  ex- 
amine Shelley's  "Ode  to  the  West  Wind."  In  some  schools  the 
accepted  method  of  teaching  the  poem  is  to  read  it  aloud  to  the 


*Moody  and  Lovett,  History  of  English  Literature,  page  320. 


10  Bulletin 

class  with  perhaps  a  commendatory  sentence  or  two  by  way  of 
conclusion.  Occasionally  the  reading  is  prefaced  by  several  de- 
sultory questions,  such  as,  "Which  part  of  the  poem  did  you  like 
best?,"  or  "What  does  the  poet  say  about  the  West  Wind?,"  or 
"What  does  the  poet  say  about  himself?"  The  answers  to  these 
are  often  as  formless  and  uncertain  as  the  wind  itself.  This 
method  is  in  itself  excellent;  as  has  been  said,  there  is  no  better 
way  to  bring  out  the  meaning  and  melody  of  a  poem  than  an 
intelligent  reading  of  it  by  one  who  really  understands  that 
meaning.  But  if  this  were  all  that  there  was  to  it,  then  the  poem 
is  of  slight  consequence.  There  are  poems — Shakspere's  "Un- 
der the  greenwood  tree,"  for  instance — whose  content  of  mean- 
ing can  be  exhausted  by  reading  them  aloud,  but  Shelley's  "Ode 
to  the  West  Wind"  is  not  one  of  them.  The  poem  is,  in  fact, 
a  complete  illustration  of  Shelley's  attitude  to  the  world  and  of 
his  poetic  genius.  It  is  not  only  an  index  to  the  poet's  char- 
acter and  genius — it  is  a  table  of  contents  as  well.  If  we  could 
understand  the  poem  thoroughly,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all,  we 
should  know  what  Shelley  is,  both  as  a  man  and  as  a  poet. 

The  three  qualities  for  which  Shelley  is  famed  as  a  poet  are, 
to  put  them  briefly  and  without  explanation,  his  lyric  gift,  his 
etherealness,  and  his  myth-making  power.  The  melody  of  the 
poem  will  be  apparent  at  even  the  first  reading.  Subsequent 
readings  will  bring  out  the  subtle  manner  in  which  the  movement 
of  the  verse  suggests  "with  wonderful  truth  the  streaming  and 
volleying  of  the  wind,  interrupted  now  and  then  by  a  sudden 
lull." 

The  myth-making  power  of  Shelley  is  evidenced  by  his  per- 
sonifications of  the  West  Wind.  Throughout  the  poem  he  ad- 
dresses it  as  "Thou."  Autumn  is  also  personified;  the  flying 
leaves  are  "pestilence  stricken  multitudes;"  and  the  Spring 
breeze  is  the  "azure  sister"  of  the  autumnal  West  Wind  and 
blows  "her  clarion  o'er  the  dreaming  earth."  The  clouds  are 
"angels  of  rain  and  lightning"  and  also  "the  locks  of  the  ap- 
proaching storm;"  the  wind  itself  is  the  "dirge  of  the  dying 
year."  "The  blue  Mediterranean"  is  wakened  from  "his  sum- 
mer dreams"  and  the  sea  blooms  and  "sapless  foliage  of  the 


Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College  11 

ocean  .  .  .  grow  gray  with  fear"  at  the  approach  of  the  West 
Wind.  Certainly  no  additional  evidence  of  Shelley's  fondness 
for  personification  is  needed. 

The  remoteness  of  the  poem  from  the  world  of  fact  is  evident 
throughout.  Having  as  its  theme  the  incorporeal  air,  the  poem 
is  almost  of  necessity  ethereal,  but  Shelley  has  made  it  noticeably 
so.  Earth,  Air,  Ocean,  and  the  Spirit  of  Man  are  the  setting  of 
the  poem;  the  clouds  are  like  ''earth's  decaying  leaves"  shaken 
from  "the  tangled  boughs  of  Heaven  and  Ocean;"  the  closing 
night  is  "the  dome  of  a  vast  sepulchre"  through  which  sounds 
the  dirge  of  the  dying  year.  Even  in  his  description  of  the 
Ocean,  he  leaves  the  surface  to  explore  its  dark,  unfathomed 
caves.  The  tone  of  the  poem  throughout  is  apart  from  fact,  is 
ethereal,  unearthly — an  effect  which  is  to  a  large  extent  pro- 
duced by  the  myth-making  power  just  discussed. 

But  the  two  most  definite  facts  in  the  poem  are  its  plan  and  its 
relation  to  its  author.  The  plan  is  simplicity  itself,  but  despite 
the  poem's  division  into  cantos  and  the  poet's  recapitulation  in 
lines  43-45,  many  students  read  it  without  grasping  its  plan. 
Nothing  could  be  simpler  than  this: 

First  stanza — The  leaves 
Second  stanza — The  clouds 
Third  stanza — The  waves 
Fourth  and  fifth  stanzas — The  poet. 

The  most  important  fact  of  the  poem,  however,  is  its  bearing 
on  Shelley's  own  life  and  on  his  relation  to  the  age  in  which  he 
lived.  In  the  fourth  stanza  he  shows  the  influence  of  the  French 
Revolution  upon  him  in  his  belief  that  some  external  power  such 
as  time  or  custom  represses  and  restrains  him,  and  thus  prevents 
him  from  rising  to  his  full  stature: 

A  heavy  weight  of  hours  has  chained  and  bound 
One  too  like  thee:  tameless  and  swift  and  proud. 

In  his  comparison  of  himself  to  the  West  Wind  and  his  des- 
cription of  himself  as  "tameless  and  swift  and  proud"  breaks 


12  Bulletin 

out  his  intense  longing  for  an  ideal  freedom  such  as  the  French 
Revolution  dreamed  of. 

The  three  adjectives  also  give  us  an  insight  into  his  character. 
Shelley  was  a  born  rebel ;  he  rebelled  against  the  tyranny  of  the 
fagging  system  at  Eton,  against  the  oppression  and  injustice  of 
England's  treatment  of  the  Irish  people  at  that  time,  and,  in  his 
union  with  J\lary  Godwin,  against  public  opinion  and  the  moral 
restraints  of  his  age.  This  last  act,  taken  in  connection  with  the 
suicide  of  his  former  wife,  for  which  he  was  held  largely  respon- 
sible, forced  him  to  leave  England.  During  all  his  brief,  boyish 
existence  he  was  kicking  against  the  pricks  of  life.  Thus  it  is 
that  he  prays  the  West  Wind: 

Oh,  lift  me  as  a  "wave,  a  leaf,  a  cloud! 
I  fall  upon  the  thorns  of  life!    I  bleed! 

The  essential  unreality  of  Shelley's  nature  and  his  passion  for 
an  uncontrolled  freedom  appear  in  his  comparison  of  himself  to 
a  "leaf,"  a  "cloud,"  a  "wave,"  and  in  his  envy  of  the  freedom 
of  the  wind — "only  less  free  than  thou,  0  uncontrollable." 
These  ideas  reach  their  fullest  expression  in  the  last  canto  where 
he  identifies  the  West  Wind  with  himself: 

Be  thou,  Spirit  fierce, 
My  spirit!    Be  thou  me,  impetuous  one! 

No  better  illustration  could  be  had  of  Shelley's  own  impetuous, 
uncontrollable  nature  than  in  his  identification  of  himself  with 
the  unseen,  unrestrained  power  of  the  air. 

Shelley's  high  idealism  cannot  be  separated  from  his  devotion 
to  poetry,  the  two  are  inseparably  linked  together.  Poetry  was 
the  passion  of  his  soul,  the  outlet  for  his  idealism,  the  expres- 
sion of  his  dreams,  and  the  means  by  which  they  would  become 
realities.  Of  all  poets  he  is  the  closest  to  the  spirit  of  poetry. 
As  in  the  closing  stanzas  of  "To  a  Skylark"  he  gave  utterance 
to  his  personal  sadness,  his  longing  for  poetic  power,  and  the 
influence  of  that  power  upon  mankind,  so  here  in  the  closing 


Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College  13 

stanzas  of  his  "Ode  to  the  West  Wind"  he  strikes  even  more 
clearly  the  same  note : 

Make  me  thy  lyre,  even  as  the  forest  is: 
What  if  my  leaves  are  falling  like  its  own! 
The  tumult  of  thy  mighty  harmonies 

Will  take  from  both  a  deep,  autumnal  tone, 
Sweet  though  in  sadness.     Be  thou,  Spirit  fierce, 
My  spirit!      Be  thou  me,  impetuous  one! 

Drive  my  dead  thoughts  over  the  universe 
Like  withered  leaves  to  quicken  a  new  birth! 
And,  by  the  incantation  of  this  verse. 

Scatter,  as  from  an  unextinguished  hearth 
Ashes  and  sparks,  my  words  among  mankind! 
Be  through  my  lips  to  unawakened  earth 

The  trumpet  of  a  prophecy!      O  wind. 

If  Winter  comes,  can  Spring  be  far  behind? 

Shelley  here  expresses  a  feeling  similar  to  that  which  Shaks- 
pere  ascribed  to  himself  in  the  seventy-third  Sonnet  and  which 
he  made  Macbeth  express  in  Scene  3,  Act  V — his  feeling  that  he 
had  lived  long  enough,  that  his  way  of  life  had  fallen  into  the 
sear,  the  yellow  leaf.  Coupled  with  his  sense  of  failure  in  the 
present  is  his  glowing  hope  that  in  the  future  the  ideas  expressed 
in  his  poetry  may  have  "power  on  this  dead  world  to  make  it 
live"  until  finally  it  shall  be  "wrought  to  sympathy  with  hopes 
and  fears  it  heeded  not." 

If  we  are  to  teach  our  students  these  facts,  we  must  emulate 
Chaucer's  Clerk  and  his  Parson: 

And  gladly  wolde  he  lerne  and  gladly  teche. 

Cristes  lore  and  his  apostles  twelve 

He  taughte,  but  first  he  folwed  it  himselve. 

A  love  of  poetry,  or  at  least  a  liking  for  it,  must  precede  and  be 
an  integral  part  of  the  teaching  of  it.  Unless  the  teacher  under- 
stands the  poem  himself,  he  cannot  make  his  students  understand 
it;  unless  he  himself  has  found  the  facts  of  poetry,  he  cannot 
teach  others  how  to  find  them.     We  must  remember  that  those 


14 


Bulletin 


who  study  poetry  must  study  it  in  spirit  and  in  truth;  that  it  is 
neither  in  the  place  of  its  composition,  the  date  of  its  birth,  nor 
the  pleasure  which  the  sound  of  it  gives  that  a  poem  can  be  truly 
studied,  but  in  the  inner  meaning,  the  soul  of  the  poem. 

Our  students  should  be  taught  that  poetry  means  something, 
that  it  means  intensely  and  means  good,  and  that  to  find  this 
meaning  is  the  main  purpose  of  our  study  of  it.  This  is  not  only 
the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  but  the  introduction  and  the 
body  of  the  discourse  as  well. 


Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College 


15 


3n  £@emonam 


JOSEPH  LAMB  ARMSTRONG,  A.  M. 


PROFESSOR  OF  ENGLISH 


December  21,  1919 


EESOLUTIONS  ADOPTED  BY  THE  FACULTY 


God,  in  His  unsearchable  wisdom,  having  called  His  servant,  Joseph 
Lamb  Armstrong,  from  labor  in  this  earthly  vineyard  to  the  rewards  of  His 
higher  kingdom,  we,  his  co-laborers  here  for  a  time,  record  this  testimonial 
of  his  worth  and  our  love: 

As  a  member  of  the  faculty  of  the  college  from  its  inception.  Professor 
Armstrong  exercised  a  potent  influence  in  shaping  the  curriculum  and  de- 
termining the  policy  of  the  institution. 

As  senior  professor  and  secretary  of  the  faculty,  his  frankness  and  cour- 
tesy secured  the  fullest  confidence  and  the  highest  regard  of  his  colleagues. 

As  teacher,  a  passion  for  sound  scholarship  characterized  his  work.  The 
imprint  of  thoroughness  was  stamped  upon  his  pupils. 

As  citizen,  he  interested  himself  in  the  welfare  of  his  community  and 
served  it  as  opportunity  offered. 

As  a  follower  of  Christ,  his  faith  was  simple  and  his  walk  and  conver- 
sation honored  Him  whom  he  called  Master. 

As  husband,  and  son  and  brother,  his  life  was  beautiful.  We  mourn 
with  those  who  mourn,  and  commend  them  to  the  loving  mercies  of  Him 
who  said,  I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless. 

(Signed) 

F.  W.  MARTIN 
NELLIE   V.   POWELL 
R.  W.   ARNOLD,  JR. 
Lynchburg,  Va.,  December  21,  1919. 


Memorial  Address  in  Honor  of  Prof. 
Joseph  L.  Armstrong 

Delivered  in  the  Chapel  of  Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College 
on  January  18,  1920. 

By  Professor  F.  W.  Martin 

"Wlien  I  consider  life  and  its  few  years — 
A  wisp  of  fog  betwixt  us  and  the  sun; 
A  call  to  battle,  and  the  battle  done 
Ere  the  last  echo  dies  within  our  ears; 
A  rose  choked  in  the  grass;   an  hour  of  fears; 
The  gusts  that  on  a  darkening  shore  upbeat; 
The  burst  of  music  down  an  unlistening  street — 
I  wonder  at  the  idleness  of  tears. 
Ye  old,  old  dead,  and  ye  of  yesternight, 
Captains,  and  bards,  and  keepers  of  the  sheep, 
By  every  cup  of  sorrow  that  ye  had 
Loose  me  from  tears,  and  make  me  see  aright 
How  each  hath  back  what  once  he  stayed  to  weep : 
Homer  his  sight ;   David  his  little  lad. ' ' 

We  have  come  together  here  tonight  to  honor  the  memory  of  a 
good  man,  our  colleague,  your  teacher.  He  loved  us.  Let  love 
for  him  be  in  all  our  hearts. 

Who  can  valuate  the  worth  of  a  great  life  ?  God,  alone.  Who 
can  valuate  the  worth  of  a  good  life  ?  God,  alone.  Our  estimates 
of  our  fellowmen  do  not  take  account  of  ultimate  worth ;  and  in 
framing  them  we  usually  dissociate  greatness  and  goodness.  But 
in  so  doing  we  betray  the  fact  that  our  standards  are  human  in- 
deed ;  for  nineteen  centuries  ago  our  Lord  gave  us  God 's  measure 
for  a  man :  He  among  you  that  is  greatest  shall  he  the  servant 
of  all. 

Is  it  not  strange  that  we  still  go  on  deluding  ourselves  with 
the  notion  that  the  great  man,  or  the  greatly  good  man  must  do 
some  wonderful  thing;  must  stand  pre-eminent  among  men  like 
Saul  in  the  midst  of  his  brethren ;  must  tower  above  the  multi- 


Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College  17 

tude  like  some  lofty  mountain  above  the  plain;  strange  that  we 
fail  to  perceive  the  obvious :  the  fruits  which  nourish  and  sustain 
life  are  home  on  the  level  acres. 

Were  we  to  look  for  the  spectacular  in  the  life  of  our  departed 
friend,  we  would  probably  not  find  it.  So  far  as  I  am  aware 
(and  I  knew  him  intimately  above  twenty-six  years),  it  was  not 
there.  But  that  which  the  world  needs  much  more,  without 
which  it  cannot  go  on  at  all,  honesty,  sincerity,  frankness,  filial 
piety,  conjugal  devotion,  and  duty  done  to  the  twain  mile  were 
there.  Appreciation  of  the  true,  the  beautiful,  and  the  good  was 
there.  Understanding  of  his  high  calling  from  God  to  serve  as  a 
molder  of  young  minds  and  shaper  of  eternal  destinies  was  there. 
He  saw  his  task  clearly,  he  guaged  his  powers  accurately,  and  he 
wrought  his  work  thoroughly  "as  unto  God." 

On  this  occasion,  it  is  fitting  that  I  should  give  you  (so  far  as 
I  may  be  able  to  do  so  in  a  few  words)  some  proper  appreciation 
of  that  work.  Perchance  it  was  nobler  than  you  think,  greater 
than  you  suspect.  Most  of  you  have  not  yet  reached  that  period 
of  life  when  origins  of  things  engage  the  attention.  Swept  along 
on  the  pulsing  stream  of  youth,  you  enjoy  whatever  the  passing 
moment  offers  without  thought  of  the  provision  or  of  the  pro- 
vider. You  make  an  excursion  by  railway  and  never  once  think 
of  Watts.  You  send  a  telegram  without  a  thought  of  Morse. 
You  chat  over  the  telephone  or  push  a  button  to  turn  on  the 
electric  light  and  nothing  suggests  the  names  of  Graham  Bell  and 
Thomas  Edison.  The  thousands  of  conveniences  that  form  the 
stately  edifice  of  civilization  are  ranged  in  your  minds  in  some 
vague  way  along  with  field  and  forest  and  summer  and  winter 
as  things  that  have  always  been.  I  am  not  reproaching  you  for 
this  attitude  of  mind,  which  is  entirely  natural  for  you  thus  far. 
But  now  I  would  say  to  you  that  you  are  old  enough  and  mature 
enough  to  realize  that  this  orderly  frame  of  nature  is  God's  con- 
creted thought ;  and  that  every  invention  is  the  concreted  thought 
of  some  man.  Thus  it  is  that  you  are  the  heirs  of  the  ages;  and 
thus  it  is  that  this  college  has  come  to  you. 

Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College  did  not  happen.  It  was 
made.     It  did  not  spring  full  grown  from  the  mind  of  one  man. 


18  Bulletin 

It  was  wrought  out  in  almost  continuous  conference,  debate,  and 
experimentation  during  the  first  four  years,  1893-97,  by  the  five 
persons  composing  the  original  faculty  of  president  and  depart- 
mental heads.  Of  these,  there  were  two  who  thought  that  we 
needed  a  model  to  work  by ;  and  for  this,  they  would  have  taken 
the  University  of  Virginia  of  the  ancient  plan  inaugurated  by 
Jefferson  which  even  then  had  become  an  anachronism  and  later 
(1905)  was  discarded  by  that  institution.  But  the  other  three, 
of  whom  Professor  Armstrong  was  one,  opposed  this  view.  The 
result  was  that  this  college  had  no  model.  It  imitated  no  other 
institution.     It  was,  and  is,  unique. 

The  outcome  more  than  justified  the  line  of  action  adopted. 
Before  the  end  of  the  first  decade  the  college  was  accorded  the 
highest  educational  rating  by  the  national  authorities;  and  its 
standards  for  entrance  and  graduation  enforced  corresponding 
changes  in  every  high  school  and  college  in  the  Southern  States. 
In  all  this  work  of  definition  and  advancement.  Professor  Arm- 
strong was  identified  with  the  party  of  progress,  and  it  often 
happened  that  he  cast  the  deciding  vote. 

A  college  resembles  a  man  in  more  than  one  respect,  and  not 
least  in  this:  its  life  consist eth  not  in  the  abundance  of  things 
that  it  possesseth.  This  institution  has  always  been  poor  in 
dollars,  although  (it  pleases  me  to  think  that)  it  has  been  rich 
above  many  in  the  personnel  of  its  faculty  and  in  the  quality  of 
its  students.  The  amount  of  money  which  we  have  received  from 
outside  sources  has  been  greatly  exaggerated  in  the  public  mind. 
The  sum  of  all  subscriptions  to  this  college  from  persons  oth^u* 
than  members  of  the  faculty  and  students  is  less  than  five  per 
cent  of  the  total  invested  and  expended  here.  Or,  to  put  it  i*^ 
another  way,  this  college  has  been  founded,  built,  equippe  .  and 
maintained  solely  upon  the  brains  of  its  faculty.  Remem^er  this : 
For  twenty-six  and  a  half  years  Professor  Armstrong's  inird  w^s 
a  large  part  of  the  working  capital  upon  which  these  splendid 
dividends  were  declared,  and  of  which  you  are  the  latest  bene- 
ficiaries; although  they  will  not  terminate  with  you,  nor  cease 
ever  till  time  ceases. 

However,  Professor  Armstrong's  services  to  the  college  were 
not  restricted  to  purely  academic  matters.     His  activities  were 


Randolph-Macon  Woman's  College  19 

also  manifested  in  what  the  materialistic  would  term  a  more  tan- 
gible way.  A  moment  ago  I  mentioned  a  paltry  five  per  cent  of 
contributions  to  the  college  by  outsiders.  An  appreciable  frac- 
tion of  this,  about  one-fifth,  is  represented  by  the  library;  and 
this  was  secured  by  his  influence.  A  library  has  been  termed  by 
some  poetical-minded  writer  'Hhe  soul  of  a  college."  I  know 
full  well  that  (as  in  Egypt,  so  here)  a  day  will  come  when  there 
shall  arise  a  generation  that  knew  not  Joseph.  But  I  would  lay 
it  upon  your  hearts  as  you  go  in  and  out  of  our  library  to 
occasionally  give  a  grateful  thought  to  the  memory  of  this  man 
of  whom  we  now  say  that  he  is  dead. 

''But  is  he  dead  whose  noble  mind 
Lifts  mine  on  high? 
To  live  in  those  we  leave  behind 
Is  not  to  die." 


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